


Hard to Yield

by Just_Another_Day



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Wrestling, establishing dominance, respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Day/pseuds/Just_Another_Day
Summary: Of course not everyone immediately accepts Nikandros as fully deserving of the position of Kyros.





	Hard to Yield

Nikandros had only seen twenty-two summers when the King declared him Kyros of the freshly-recovered lands of Delpha. So it wasn't much of a surprise that it wasn't only the Veretian farmers and villagers left behind when their former countrymen marched back over the new border who had been slow to accept his leadership.

Nikandros knew what people were saying back then. Never mind that he'd excelled in his two years of service at the Kingsmeet, and that he'd carried out the orders of the King and his sons as one of the commanders on the ground at both Sanpelier and Marlas. None of that experience had mattered in the slightest at first to men twice his age who felt they'd been overlooked. Like Straton, who by all accounts had whispered under his breath that Nikandros had only really been gifted the position more or less as practice, because it was seen as practically a foregone conclusion that when Damianos became King, Nikandros would hold Ios at his side. 

Nikandros couldn't deny that that must have been the King's primary reasoning in selecting him. Only an idiot would have doubted that, given the circumstances. But Nikandros had immediately decided that he would prove that he actually was worthy of the honour regardless of why it had been bestowed on him. He wasn't just someone who needed training for a more 'important' position down the track. Nor was he just the person who cared most in the world for ensuring Prince Damianos's safety and the prosperity of his future reign, meaning that he was clearly loyal enough that the King could be sure he wouldn't take the opportunity lent by distance from the capital to break off on his own the way the northern kyroi often had in the past. Age aside, Nikandros had the proven capacity to be a great leader on his own merit, and he knew it. He would prove it.

Two years into his time in Marlas, Nikandros still would have hesitated to say that the region was as stable as its southern neighbours. That was only to be expected, since the region change back to Akielon rule introduced a host of problems that none of those other kyroi had to confront. As the King himself had acknowledged the last time Nikandros had sailed south to Ios, Delpha was however in considerably better condition than it could have been, all things considered. Theomedes sounded utterly unimpressed by the whole thing, of course – Nikandros wouldn't have expected any less of him – but in reality he knew that it was high praise. 

The King's acknowledgement that he was performing the role of Kyros admirably seemed to be mostly reflected in the attitudes of the people of Delpha by that stage. The ease with which he'd quelled the pockets of rebellion from the previously-Veretian populace and re-established the economy of the region quieted most of his naysayers. His repositioning of the troops on the borders to more effectively shut down Vaskian raiders looking to take advantage of the political upheaval and intrude farther into Delpha shut up Straton in particular, whose holdings were far enough to the east that he would have expected heavy losses had the Vaskians not been stopped short. However much they might have doubted him initially, with great effort Nikandros had managed to sway the bannermen to his side.

Except one, it seemed.

Makedon might concede to swear fealty to the King because he was a traditionalist who understood that Theomedes's royal blood decreed that it must be that way, and because they were of the same generation, and there was comradery built up between those two through twenty years of fighting shoulder-to-shoulder. But it was obviously harder on Makedon's pride to bend at the waist to someone like Nikandros, who wasn't even quite half Makedon's age, and who had been elevated to his position rather than being necessarily born to it, and who Makedon had never directly battled alongside. Makedon couldn't outright rebel against Nikandros without going against the King who had appointed him, but outright rebellion wasn't the only way to undermine him. It was bad enough that Makedon made it clear how little he _wanted_ to have to follow Nikandros. The other bannermen had taken the knee for now, but eventually they would follow Makedon's lead if his behaviour went unchecked for much longer.

Unlike with Straton, it wasn't that Makedon felt he should have been made Kyros instead of Nikandros. Makedon would have hated being mostly tied down to one holding, never mind constantly having to deal with the kind of politics that couldn't be answered with the swing of a sword. And Nikandros couldn't imagine him handling petitioners speaking of their hardships with much more than a gruff, "That's just life, boy, so you'd best learn to deal with it rather than waste all our time griping about it." As far as Nikandros could tell, Makedon preferred continuing on exactly as he had been before they'd won at Marlas, except that now he was running his patrols in the hills further to the north. And he'd done that well, admittedly. That was why Nikandros had allowed himself to address more pressing matters rather than dealing with this earlier. Until now.

In two years, Makedon had only presented himself to Delpha to report once. Messengers requested his presence received half-hearted excuses that he was needed on the ground in response. And Nikandros's written orders regarding things like troop movement only earned the tersest expressions of acceptance that suggested that Makedon was probably only conceding to them because Nikandros's suggestions were steps that Makedon would have ultimately taken if left to his own devices anyway. That might almost have been fine, Nikandros supposed, as long as they were in agreement. But what about when Nikandros inevitably asked for something that Makedon contested? It was clear that he didn't respect Nikandros enough to ensure that he would fall in line under those circumstances. So Nikandros couldn't allow the status quo to continue.

Nikandros incorporated a visit to Makedon's camp into a larger tour of the region so that it seemed less like an admission that Nikandros knew he would have difficulty forcing Makedon to come to him. Makedon and his men probably suspected it nonetheless, even if they couldn't prove it. But Nikandros understood that that was the kind step he had to take. He could ultimately win back that ground and much more by being there. Dealing with Makedon was like fighting a battle. Holding the line with steel-like firmness would prevent a break, yes, but if the other side was strong and stubborn enough it might also result in an impasse. Whereas ceding a little in one area could allow massive gains in another, if planned correctly. Nikandros knew how to play the long game more than well enough by now.

"Nikandros," Makedon greeted him instead of using his title. He also reached out to clasp Nikandros's arm; the welcome of one peer to another. Under other circumstances, that would have been considered the height of respect coming from Makedon, who held few men in enough esteem to imply through his actions that they were more or less his equal. But their relative ranks required that Makedon demonstrate deference to Nikandros, not equality, and it was painfully clear that he had no actual intention of doing that any time soon.

Nikandros let it slide for now, except to reply, "Commander," as a subtle reminder of rank. 

Over the lunch that Makedon's men provided to Nikandros and the guards travelling with him, Makedon mentioned with a pointed loudness that everyone in their proximity would certainly overhear that he'd heard tell of Nikandros's prowess in battle. "It's been a while since I've been able to clash swords with anyone new who could give me a challenge," Makedon said. "And I'm sure my men would appreciate the demonstration of skill." 

Nikandros had known that Makedon would be the one to suggest a fight, hoping to put Nikandros in his place, and knowing that it would be difficult for Nikandros to decline without seeming cowardly. That was exactly the type of man Makedon was. Nikandros had been counting on that.

"I wouldn't mind stretching my limbs after the long morning of riding," Nikandros agreed. "Though I prefer wrestling for friendly matches." 

Nikandros believed that he could beat Makedon in a swordfight, especially since Makedon was clearly underestimating Nikandros enough to give him the sort of leeway that he could capitalise on. But even if he did, that might be _too_ much of a blow to the pride of a man who was known for being unbeaten with a sword in his hand. And even apart from that, Nikandros knew that even with blunted blades, there was always the possibility of things going too far in a duel where one or both participants had a lot to prove and so would be unwilling to back off. Things would not go well if either of them ended up seriously injured, even by accident. The reward wasn't worth the risk.

Thankfully, judging from the boisterous laugh Makedon let out as he slapped Nikandros on the back, he had no desire to counter the proposed change. Of course he didn't. He would believe that Nikandros had just seriously misstepped and disadvantaged himself. The pleased cheering of Makedon's men suggested they thought the same. And Nikandros could see why they would assume as much. Wrestling was often won as much by strength as by skill, and at a glance anyone would believe Makedon had Nikandros beat in that respect. If reports of the descriptions of the massive bears of the northern forests were to be believed, Makedon could easily have descended from them. He was absurdly broad across the shoulders and chest, and he stood an inch or two taller than Nikandros as well. And though Makedon himself probably would refuse to acknowledge how, despite how active he was, aging and too much drink had recently added an extra layer of paunch over his otherwise muscled belly, Nikandros could see that it lent him an extra amount of weight that would make it simpler to keep Nikandros pinned. 

If he managed to get Nikandros in that position in the first place, that was.

Nikandros had wrestled Damen too many times to count. Makedon would shortly find out that with all that experience under his belt, however unnotched that belt might be compared with Makedon's, Nikandros wouldn't be so easily beaten.

As Makedon stripped down, Nikandros eyed him up for weaknesses. Even oiled, his thick chest hair would probably provide an easy handhold, but Nikandros doubted he would need it. There was also an assortment of scars over his body, but most of them were small or old enough that they wouldn't distract Makedon by pulling painfully or otherwise restrict his movement. Nor did most of them look like they'd ever been deep enough to do truly significant damage to the muscles or tendons underneath. The thick scar over Makedon's knee in particular, though, suggested something Nikandros might be able to exploit. 

Makedon's gaze also flickered downwards from his face when Nikandros tossed aside his chiton. However, he didn't scan over Nikandros's body with the same type of calculation that Nikandros had been employing. Nikandros couldn't say for sure whether that was because it was very evident on the slightest of glances that Nikandros lacked the types of scars and injuries that an older soldier like Makedon had naturally accumulated over time, or if Makedon simply didn't believe he would need to study Nikandros at all in order to beat him. If it was the latter, Nikandros would just let him think that for now. All the better.

From the moment the start of the match was called, and their bodies slammed together amidst the roar of the onlookers, Nikandros was struck by the familiarity of grappling with someone larger than himself. It had been a long while since he and Damen had last matched up like this, but his body hadn't forgotten the experience at all. Makedon's style might have been very different to Damen's, but it required much the same tactics of using his weight and size against him, and of Nikandros shifting his own body in quick motions that made it difficult to get a proper grip on him. It made a large difference, however, that Damen was quicker on his feet than Makedon despite being of similar size to him. Nikandros fully intended to use that difference against his opponent now. 

He stepped around Makedon in a way that would require Makedon to pivot quickly on that scarred knee before he could counter. As Nikandros anticipated, Makedon could only turn that way slowly. Nikandros used the extra half-second of being slightly off-balance to topple him to the ground.

It was still a struggle from there to find a hold where Nikandros's hands didn't slip against the oil coating Makedon's skin, and to keep Makedon from just rolling on top of him and winning simply by half-crushing him. But eventually – with Nikandros's chest heaving against Makedon's back as they pressed skin-to-skin – Nikandros managed to tangle Makedon's limbs up sufficiently that Makedon couldn't shake him off while Nikandros's forearm clenched tightly against Makedon's throat.

Makedon still thrashed against the inevitable for far longer than a lesser man would have. But Nikandros knew that he had no real choice. Either he would declare his own defeat, or loss of consciousness would do it for him. Makedon obviously held out as long as he could, even as his movements grew weaker, but ultimately his palm slapped the ground. A yield. A concession.

Once he let go of Makedon, who curled in on himself for a second as he gasped for breath, Nikandros quickly righted himself. The significance of their momentary relative positions – Nikandros standing tall and comparatively unfazed while Makedon was splayed on the ground at his feet – would be just as obvious to anyone watching as the meaning of Makedon yielding to him must have been. Just explicitly asking Makedon to publicly kneel for him like this would have been a terrible idea. Makedon's men would probably have rebelled if Nikandros had demanded it, and Makedon himself would have laughed in Nikandros's face. But no one could deny that this had been earned now. This had been the only way to make a man like that submit to someone he hadn't thought deserved it. Nikandros had both given him no choice and proven himself worthy of it all at once.

"Good match," Nikandros said when Makedon recovered himself enough to stand.

"Kyros," was Makedon's gruff answer, along with the slightest of nods; an acknowledgement of more than just Nikandros's words.

Nikandros wouldn't get more than that from him, he knew. Especially not with hundreds of men gathered to watch, even though many of those men were themselves looking at Nikandros with an increased level of respect. But even so, this was enough for now. 

Makedon couldn't see him as just an upstart boy who'd just happened to be lucky in life anymore. Nikandros could build the rest from there.

And if Makedon managed to convince himself that this had been a fluke, or if he for any other reason ever needed a reminder that Nikandros was more than a match for him, well then…

Nikandros would be only too happy to put him on his back again, as many times as he needed to.

**Author's Note:**

> This was as close as I could get to writing Nikandros/Makedon dom/sub for a Tumblr prompt that requested it. If you want to imagine Nikandros making Makedon submit to him in a more private and personal way at some point later on, I'll have to leave that scenario to those of you that ship it.


End file.
